


Endure

by Atrastae



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ramsay is his own warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atrastae/pseuds/Atrastae
Summary: Scenes from Sansa's marriage to Ramsay Bolton.





	1. The Night Of

Sansa could feel her exhaustion even before being fully awake. She could not tell how much time had passed since they'd entered the room. She'd slept fitfully, jolting awake every time her mind dared to escape her reality. Her heart pounding at every sound, every movement from the man who shared her bed.

Her husband. Now her only family.

All hope that Ramsay Bolton would be anything other than a cruel husband vanished the moment he tore her dress from her shoulders. Telling her essentially former adopted brother, Theon Greyjoy, that he must stay and watch as Ramsay pushed her down, face smothered into the furs, muffling her cries, as he forced himself into her body.

It went quickly. Far more quickly than she expected, thank the Gods. Ramsay commented on the brevity of their joining a moment after rolling off her to catch his breath.

“I must apologize, my Lady Wife,” he said to the ceiling, a note of amusement in his voice. “I have been waiting on this for what seems ages, I could not contain my passion. I am usually a far more enduring lover . . . Am I not, Reek?”

Sansa had not forgotten Theon's presence in the room. Yes, Theon. For despite her hatred for the man who had betrayed her family, who had turned his back on Robb and Jon despite them counting him as a brother, and slaughtered little Bran and Rickon who had looked up to him with love and respect. Despite Ramsay's insistence that his name was now Reek and he was but a pet, a plaything, she could not think of him as such. He was Theon, and his suffering at the hands of her now-husband made her both fear for herself and pity the wretched fool.

“Reek. I have asked you a question?” The sharp note of threat in Ramsay's voice made Sansa quake.

“Y-yes, my lord,” he choked out. “Very attentive.”

Sansa lay still on her stomach, head turned to the far wall where she could not see her husband or Theon. Her eyes were dry and burning as she stared into the fire. She felt Ramsay shift and her breath caught in her throat as he rolled half on top of her, his bare leg coming up over her backside, his cock soft and sticky and damp against her hip and she grasped tightly at the furs and screwed her eyes closed, anticipating the searing pain between her legs.

“There, my lovely Sansa, you see?” He spoke close to her ear, his wine-laced breath fanning across her cheek. “Do not be too disappointed in me, for I will be a much, much more attentive lover the next time I have you.”

The threat was clear. His hand pushed between her body and the furs to grasp roughly at her right breast.

“But not tonight. You must hurt for all this blood upon me.” He moved to cover her with his body, his hips pushing his firming cock into the cleft of her buttocks. “I must admit I doubted your purity. All that time in King's Landing. Favorite of King Joffrey. Married to that runt Lannister. Months in the company of Lord Baelish.” Sansa shivered as Ramsay flicked his tongue against her ear. “I saw the way he looks at you. I thought for sure he had had you for himself. But no, you have been a good little girl. And now you are my good little girl.” 

With a final thrust he rolled away and she felt him rise from the bed.

“Reek, find me a clean cloth to wipe away this mess.”

“Yes, my lord,” Theon answered and she heard the heavy door open and close. A log in the fire popped and she heard the clank and swish of wine being poured. She pushed herself up to sit, a fur clutched to her chest, but continued to stare into the fire. Ramsay stood naked and drinking in her peripheral.

“You've done so well, Sansa. You've made me a very happy man.” She thought she detected a softening in his voice. “I hope you will continue to do so.”

Theon returned with a cloth and Ramsay rubbed it against himself before pulling on his breeches. 

“I will leave you now,” he said, coming close. He reached out and tipped her face up by her chin and she finally looked at him. Ramsay smiled and leaned down to press a brief kiss to her lips. She remained still. He lingered close to her face. “It is not yet morning. I bid you a good sleep.”

And with that he turned and left, Theon trailing after.


	2. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay returns from a hunt.

Sansa kept her head down as she sipped carefully at her soup. It tasted awful, but she hadn't eaten all day and didn't want to offend Lord Bolton by turning away her dinner. The broth tasted off, probably made from old spoiled meat and far too much salt had been added to cover the flavor. The split in her lip stung with each spoonful, and a glance at her husband's pleased expression told her he knew exactly what she was feeling.

 

“What happened to her face, Ramsay?” Lord Bolton broke the uncomfortable silence with an even more uncomfortable question.

 

Before her husband could humiliate her further with the truth, Sansa spoke up. “The cold has made my lips very dry, my lord, and they split this morning.” It wasn't a lie. They were dry, though more from her waning health and lack of sustenance than the cold. What she was leaving out was that the wound had happened that morning when Ramsay had entered her room just as she was about to go down to break her fast.

 

_The door to her room opened suddenly and she just barely missed a hit to the head. Ramsay stepped inside and closed the door behind him, leaning back against it and blocking her exit._

 

“ _Good morning, my dearest love,” he greeted her with a gleeful smile._

 

“ _Good morning, my lord husband,” Sansa tried to muster a more pleasing tone than she felt. “Welcome home.”_

 

“ _You look rather tired, Sansa,” he said and stepped forward as she took a step back. “You must have missed me and slept rather poorly in my absence.”_

 

_Sansa's retreat was stopped by the chair in front of the hearth. Clearing her throat, she said, “Yes, Ramsay, a peaceful sleep eluded me.” He had been away for three days hunting with his father and the hounds. She had slept poorly, but because she had been anticipating her husband's imminent return._

 

_Taking her by the arms, he turned them so that his back was to the chair. “I wanted to return earlier but father wouldn't have it until we'd bagged a few more beasts. I found myself quite bereft without you.”_

 

_Ramsay's hands left her arms and went to his breeches, opening the front and exposing himself to her. Sansa's stomach dropped in dread. She had hoped she would make it to breakfast before he came to take his pleasure with her._

 

_His cock stood erect and he squeezed hard with his right hand while grasping her by the hair at the back of her head. “Do you see how much I missed you, my love?”_

 

_Sansa nodded, knowing he required some response. He sat on the chair, yanking her down to her knees and pulled her face to his crotch. “How much did you miss me, hm? Show me.”_

 

_With that he drew her in. She barely had time to open her mouth before he shoved his cock in her mouth. He groaned as her teeth scraped against his shaft and she felt her lip tear down the center. She tried to pull back at the pain but he pushed her further until she gagged._

 

“ _Oh Sansa, you are quite wonderful.” He pulled her head back then thrust in again. “Oh! Would you look at that,” he said and brought a finger to where her bottom lip met his cock. His finger came away red with blood and he showed her before smearing it across her top lip and cheek. “Such perfection.”_

 

_Ramsay continued to pull her hair and stared down at her, the blood from her lip mixing with her saliva and his seed to coat him a pale red. Sansa doubled down her efforts to get him off, hoping to have the wretched act done and have him gone. When he finally came she coughed and sputtered at the overfill of her mouth and the tears she had managed to hold back finally fell. He released her hair and drew her up to his lap as she struggled to swallow his foul seed as she knew he would want._

 

“ _There, there, lovely girl. You've done very well,” and he kissed her sticky lips, licking at he mouth then sliding to whisper in her ear. “You've become very good at that. You've made your husband a very happy man.”_

 

_She felt his teeth at her cheek and jaw and cried out as he bit hard into her flesh. He kissed the bite then pushed her off and stood. “You should clean up a bit before coming down, Sansa.” He made for the door, turning to her one last time before leaving. “I wouldn't want my father to become jealous.”_

 

_He smiled and closed the door behind him._

 

“I see,” Lord Bolton said in response to Sansa's explanation. “And the marks on your cheek?” He asked, annoyance clear in his tone.

 

Sansa looked to Ramsay beside her whose smile grew as he kept his eyes on his wife. Admiring his teeth marks on her face that he had gifted her that morning along with her split lip. She had tried to hide the injury with her hair, to avoid any questions, but of course she had been unsuccessful.

 

Ramsay raised his cup for more wine and Theon rushed forward to fill it. “I'm afraid I let my passion for my beautiful wife overwhelm me, I could not help it. She looked good enough to eat after such a long seperation.”

 

Lord Bolton huffed his displeasure at his son's explanation. “Three days in not long. Well find a way to help it. It won't do to have her running about the keep looking like a used tavern slut. You have the kennel girl for that,” he said, referring to Myranda, the kennelmaster's daughter.

 

“You are very right, father. I must be more respectful of my lady wife.” He shifted to face her and grasped at her face, turning it to him. Her heart quickened out of fear, unsure of what he was about. Surely he would not hurt her here, in front of his father and step-mother.

 

His happy expression took on a mask feigned sadness. “I am very, very sorry, sweeting. Please forgive me?” His thumb slip down her cheek to rest on the teeth marks marring her jaw and pressed at the bruise. She swallowed her gasp of pain.

 

“Of course,” she whispered, and his smile returned as he pulled her forward to kiss her on the lips, sucking discreetly at the split in the center of her lower lip. He pulled away quickly and pickup his eating utensils.

 

“Good. Splendid. I must find a way to get back in your good graces, my lovely Sansa.”

 

“That won't be necessary, my lord. But thank you for thinking of it.” Sansa feared what he would come up with.

 

“Nonsense! I will find you a gift. Something befitting such a patient and devoted wife such as yourself.”

 

Sansa managed a small smile then returned to her soup, the pain in her lip distracting her from the nerves in her stomach.

 


	3. A Candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A candle late at night.

Sansa lay in bed, buried under the furs in what was once little Rickon's bedroom. It was quite late and usually she would be asleep from exhaustion alone after a visit from her husband. But he had not come that night and her mind was occupied with more than her usual thoughts of escape.

 

Ramsay had told her of Lord Commander Jon Snow that day.

 

A candle was still lit and she lay on her side, staring at the flame. A memory came to her, and where once she thought of it with anger and a sense of betrayal, now it filled her with sadness and a bit of wry amusement. How life had changed.

 

 _Sansa sway lazily on the swing, the simple words to a child's lulliby softly sung from her lips. Summer, Lady, and Shaggydog lay out some distance away, soaking in the warm rays of the sun. Little Rickon sat at his direwolf's side, digging up stones and laying them atop Shaggydog's fur, the loyal animal paying no mind to his boy's task. Bran sat against a_ _nearby t_ r _ee, a book in his lap. Behind her, Sansa could hear the whispered voices of her brother Robb, sister Arya, along with her bastard half-brother Jon, and that vile little Greyjoy, Theon. She paid them no mind._

 

_Nymeria and Grey Wind trotted in from the deeper wood, heading straight for their mistress and master. Nymeria had a large pine cone in her mouth and Sansa huffed an exasperated sigh at her sister's wolf's stupid antics._

 

“ _Oh Nymeria! It's lovely!” Arya said as her direwolf dropped the cone into her mistress's lap. She leaned forward to hug her devoted pet. “Thank you so much!”_

 

_Sansa rolled her eyes in annoyance. Nymeria was always dragging in trash for Arya._

 

“ _Gods, Arya!” Sansa exclaimed. “You act like she's brought you a crown. It's just more tinder for the fireplace!” Sansa kicked her feet at the ground, not looking at her sister._

 

“ _Oh shut up, Sansa! You're just jealous Lady doesn't love you enough to bring you presents!” Arya yelled back. Lady lifted her head at the sound of her name, only to lay back down after a moment. Sansa_ was _jealous. She deserved presents too. Nymeria was always bringing Arya some odd thing. Ghost was always bringing Jon small animals he had killed. Not that Sansa wanted any of those dirty things, but Jon wasn't even a Stark! And she was older than Arya! And prettier! And sang so much better!_

 

_A giggle from the group behind her caught her attention and Sansa looked back at her siblings (and half-sibling, and not-sibling). They all looked to her and Sansa stuck her tongue out at the meanies. They were always making fun of her._

 

_Arya sent her back an ugly face, her tongue stuck out, while Robb and Theon laughed and whispered another secret she could not hear. Jon looked away, seemingly unamused, a hint of sadness in his eyes. Sansa turned away and started to pump her legs to move her swing._

 

_Near five minutes later Ghost appeared from the direction Nymeria and Grey Wind had appeared, a ball of white fur in his mouth. Sansa slowed her swing to try to see what he had brought. She thought it might be a rabbit. He took it to his bastard master and Sansa tried not to spare the group behind her another look._

 

_Instead she stared down at her feet, digging her toe into the soft ground below her. She had worn her pretty blue slippers, much to the maid's dismay. They would need a good cleaning after all the dirt they'd accumulated, but she was a lady, and ladies never wore boots._

 

_And then she detected a strange smell._

 

_Burning._

 

_Sansa's head shot up and she glanced around. Arya was running off behind her, back towards her coconspiritors. And then the heat hit her and Sansa ran forward, her back hot and fear gripping her._

 

“ _No! Help, gods, HELP!” Sansa threw her hands back in a effort to reach her hair. In her periphery Arya rolled about on the ground in a fit of laughs. Robb stood with a hand over his shocked but smiling face and Theon jumped about in amusement, pointing at Sansa and her truly flaming hair. The wolves had jolted to attention, each running towards their master. Lady stood at Sansa's side barking and growling at the spreading fire._

 

_The air left Sansa's lungs as she hit the ground. She was rolled to her front and then again to her back, cold and wet seeping into her clothes from the moist soil, her breath caught in her chest. Above her, Jon took her by the shoulders and gave a firm shake._

 

“ _Sansa?! Sansa! Breathe, you're okay, breathe!”_

 

_Her vision dimmed as no amount of effort on her part allowed a breath into her lungs. Then suddenly it came and she gasped so deeply she began to cough on her own spittle. Jon helped her to her side, a firm hand on her shoulder rubbing circles that somehow seemed to help her get air back into her lungs. The tears that had welled and fallen now poured down her cheeks._

 

“ _Why, Arya? Why -” a fit of coughs took her again and Jon helped her sit up. Robb stood just before them now, the smile gone from his face and replaced with worry and regret._

 

“ _It was just a stupid joke, Sansa-”_

 

“ _A joke!” She began to struggle to her feet and Robb put a hand out to help her. She slapped it away and instead allowed Jon to help her up. She pulled her long red hair over her shoulder, the ends crisped and brown. Where once it nearly touched her waist, now it skimmed just below her clavicle. “My hair . . . my dress . . .”_

 

_Arya scoffed, though it was apparent she was now uneasy with her trick. “It's just a dress, Sansa, you have plenty more. And your hair will grow back.”_

 

_What little defiance remained in Arya withered under Jon's harsh look. “That may be, Arya. But you could have hurt her. Truly hurt her.”_

 

“ _Theon dared me!” Behind Arya, Theon, still the most entertained, had the decency to look a tad regretful._

 

“ _And I'm sure your mother may accept that excuse.” Jon looked back to Sansa and began to brushing away the dirt from her tear stained cheeks. “I doubt father will.”_

 

“ _I didn't hear you arguing, Snow,” Theon countered, shame and fear coloring his indignancy._

 

_Jon had moved behind Sansa, his hand moving over her shoulder and down her shortened hair. Sansa felt him huff behind her. “I should have,” he said loudly and turned her to face him._

 

“ _I'm sorry, Sansa,” he said quietly. “I didn't think she'd do it. I should have stopped her.”_

 

_Sansa smiled wanly at her sweet half-brother. He was rarely affectionate with her, usually bestowing that kindness on Arya._

 

Sansa had told her mother her hair had caught fire when she'd not minded a candle. Lady Catelyn had scolded her and cut the burnt ends from her hair. Arya, Theon and Robb walked on eggshells around her for weeks, waiting for her revenge. It never came, Sansa having no taste for it at the time, though she had taken advantage of their attempts at sucking up, usually by stealing their deserts. She had tried to be more sisterly to Jon as well, but Lady Catelyn's glowering at their every interaction soon put that to a stop.

 

She had not thought of her bastard half-sibling in a long time. She tried to think of when the last time might have been but she drew a blank. Shame burned her cheeks. It was as if Jon had ceased to exist the day he turned his horse north and a carriage had carried her south.

 

She wondered if he knew she was in Winterfell. If he knew what had befallen their father. She knew little of the Night's Watch other than they swore an oath to guard the wall. Did they receive news of the world up there, or did they pay the politics of the South no mind? Surely he would have come to the aid of their brother Robb had he known of the turmoil following Eddard Stark's murder.

 

If she could get a raven to the Wall, he could help her. Get her away from Ramsay. Away from their brother and mother's – her mother's – murderers.

 

There was a clattering outside her door and she shot up from her bed. A key rattled at the lock, then clanged to the floor, followed by a garbled “fuck” and snigger. It seemed her husband had not forgotten her.

 

The door finally flung open and Ramsay fell into the room, stumbling into a table.

 

Sansa pulled the furs tightly to her chest.

 

“My lord . . . “ she began as he righted himself and looked upon her with a sloppy, exhuberant smile. “Ramsay . . . “

 

He pushed the door closed. “Hello, my love.”

 

She could smell ale on his breath from across the room. She cleared her throat. “It's late, my lord.”

 

“It is. But,” he raised an eyebrow at the lit candle, “you're awake still.” He pulled his shirt over his head, jerkin already missing. “Were you waiting up for me?”

 

Sansa swallowed dryly as he approached, unthinkingly nodding slightly. No response was never an option with her husband.

 

He unfastened the front of his pants as he came towards her and she could see he wore no underclothes. He took his flaccid cock in hand, squeezing, and gestured toward his feet. “Come, dear, help me with these boots.”

 

Slowly she stood from beneath her safe cocoon of furs, brushing her damp hands down her night rail and then knelt to pull at his boot. Ramsay placed his unoccupied hand on her shoulder and continued to play with his member while lifting his foot and she struggled to pull it off. The weathered leather came off with a hard tug and she switched to the other foot. He swayed slightly and stumbled forward, Sansa barely escaping to the side as he fell to the bed with a drunken giggle.

 

“Come on now, off with it,” he said and stuck out his booted foot again. This attempt was successful and Sansa stood, waiting to see what next he had in store for her.

 

Ramsay lay back, smiling, hand still tugging away, but to no avail. “I think I'll need a bit more help tonight, love. I'm afraid the drink has made me a bit . . . “ and he paused to wiggle his soft cock at her obscenely, “wobbly.” He broke out in peels of laughter, head thrown back.

 

Sansa closed her eyes and steadied her breath, trying to keep her rising nausea at bay. He was far drunker than she'd ever seen him. Perhaps she could get away with just her hand this time.

 

Opening her eyes she stepped forward but stilled when she saw his head lay back, mouth open, but no longer in amusement. She hadn't noticed he'd stopped laughing, but now as he peered at his face, she heard a soft snore from his throat.

 

Relief washed over her and she fell back into a chair. She'd not be sleeping in her bed that night but that was fine by her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of smut. This was originally part of a much larger chapter but I found the scene wasn't working in that context. I'm working on the rest now and hopefully will get it up (heh) before too long.


End file.
